Coming Home
by nelliesbones
Summary: But the problem was: Something had changed. She had. He had. Time had. How do you continue after three months apart? Beware: spoilers! Otherwise: warm-hearted and M for a reason.
1. The Solution That Wasn't

COMING HOME

I. The Solution That Wasn't

Sex had never been their problem, it was a solution.

When he saw her face to face for the first time in three months, the answer to all his questions was burying himself deep and even deeper in her body, sinking into sweet oblivion until nothing did hurt anymore. But... the questions remained. And so did the problem.

-BONES-

"I knew you'd come."

Pale blue eyes, eyes he knew so well, looking up at him under blond strands of hair. She smelled different, looked different, seemed different, but his body recognized her sweet curves beneath him, muscles and flesh crying out in pure relief, and the instant his lips melted against hers, her legs parted to accommodate him.

"Because you love me."

He loved her, loved her, loved her, with body and soul, with hope and despair. With every beat of his heart, his big, bruised heart. Loved her.

She tasted like she always had. Another piece of familiarity in the otherwise foreign motel room.

Her hands clutched his biceps – yes, he had been working out, Baby – and he lowered himself to her even further, crushing her without caring, but neither did she. She was strong, had gotten even stronger, but she was softer as well.

And, on the rough carpet in someone else's room, he pushed home.

-BONES-

The problem was something else. Not sex. He could still scoop her up in his arms, reconnect with her body, listen to her moans. His body knew hers, knew it so well. Kiss her, lick her, open that button, undo the clasp of her bra, suck her breasts, open the zipper, stroke her damp heat, push into her, hear her gasp, feel the silken grip of her inner muscles, move and move and shatter. Feel good. Until everything comes back.

-BONES-

"I am so sorry..."

"Bones, don't."

The mattress wasn't hard enough, the bathroom light too bright. Her hair wasn't right and he had never seen the robe she was wearing. She had lost weight, precious baby weight, and her breasts weren't lactating anymore. He had noticed it with a sharp rush of loss. His gaze fell to her bare feet, and they were walking towards him. The mattress shifted under her weight.

"Booth... You must be angry. And... hurt," she whispered, and he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head.

Darkness behind him, the future yet unwritten, she was the only thing bright, the only thing wonderful, and he did not want to walk into the darkness with her. So he took her in his arms for the second time since he had found her. Kissed her, untied her robe, rolled on top of her.

She kissed him back, her arms cradling him, and, once again, her legs opened for him. And it was warm again.

-BONES-

Sex was reassuring. And simple. He was the man, she was the woman. It was love, of course, between the two of them, it would always be, but it was something else as well.

Possession.

And when he pinned her to the wall, tied her to their bed with silky scarfs, it was even more. Did she recognize his sudden need to restrain her? If so, she didn't mention it. Never, not once did she say "no" to him, no matter how late it was or how early. No matter what he wanted to do with her. Or where. She was always... open. So open. As if nothing had changed. But... the problem was: Something had changed. She had. He had. Time had.

And the baby had.

In distress, Christine turned to her mother. Shied away from him. In the morning, Brennan made breakfast. At night, she sang songs to their daughter he had never heard before.

The problem was that he had lost three months. Booth had lost his family once, and despite it having been nothing but a dream, adjusting had been hard. Then he had lost his family a second time, and now they were back, but something was still lost. Something he couldn't grasp, so he grasped the one thing he could. Brennan. Not once did she say "no".

-BONES-

Her mouth opened on a gasp, as he sucked the skin above her pulse point. Underneath her, the washing machine had just begun its spin cycle, and, between her legs, he was moving in and out of her.

He was using sex to avoid talking, she had realized that by now, and, as he was pushing into her over and over again, Brennan felt truly helpless for the first time in three months.

Her body reacted to him, like always, and he was hard but gentle, dominating her with soft strength. But he was... dominating her. Opening her eyes, she regarded his beloved face, finding his gaze on her, and something... something was wrong. There was darkness in him that did not belong there, darkness that hadn't existed in their home before.

Lifting her hand, she caressed his stubbly cheek, and he leaned into her touch with an almost wistful smile.

There was a problem that sex could not solve, and, as he buried his face in her shoulder, she held him in a tight embrace, just because she didn't know what else to do. She wanted to fix this, needed to. She couldn't allow him this shallow kind of solace anymore. He needed more. And so did she.

-BONES-

Not once did she say "no". Until she did.

To be continued…


	2. The Problem That Was

_Thanks for your kind words!_

II. The Problem That Was

"No, Booth."

He froze with his hand under her blouse, an ice-cold fist grabbing his insides. Eyes flew up.

"What?"

Her palms flat on his chest, she kept the distance.

"I said _no_."

Hurt, panic, fear, anger... his face was twisted with emotions, and some part of her wanted to take it back, wanted to give him an easy way out. But the box had been opened.

"You don't want me to touch you?" he whispered, pulling away as if he had burned himself. And maybe he had.

Closing her eyes for the fraction of a second, she tried to find the right words.

"I want you to touch me. I need it, Booth. But what I need even more is you. I want you back."

He watched her, breathlessly, but then something inside of him clicked.

"Yeah, guess what? I want three months back, Bones. Sometimes, we just don't get what we want, do we?" he spat out, and, suddenly, she was deeply scared that, maybe, coming home hadn't been enough.

Silence followed his bitter eruption, thick silence looming between them, and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Breathing heavily, he pierced her with his gaze, and Brennan felt naked and small and fragile. What if she couldn't fix this? What if...?

'Not an option,' a tiny voice inside of her hissed, and she opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the whining of the baby monitor cut her off.

Bowing his head, Booth turned around.

"Check on her. She prefers you anyways."

He sounded defeated, and, for the first time in a very long time, she felt tears closing her throat. She couldn't cry. Not now. She had to fix this.

Christine had merely lost her blankie, but Brennan picked her up nonetheless, seeking strength in her daughter's sleepy baby scent. The child snuggled up to her, already drifting off again, and Brennan kissed her silky head. Putting her back into the crib, she turned the mobile on.

"Everything's gonna be fine. I promise," she murmured, trying to recall how the baby had looked three months ago; trying to see her with his eyes.

Three months had changed her, changed them. Three months had happened. If only she knew a way to make up for the lost time, she would do it. But there was no way. The only thing left was moving on.

When she came downstairs, Brennan found his slumped body on the couch, his face buried in both hands. Making a detour, she poured two glasses of Whiskey with shaking hands, placing one of the two right in front of him.

He looked up, his gaze wandering from her to the glass.

"Thanks. Look... Bones, I'm sorry."

Waving her hand, she stilled him.

"You must forgive me."

"I... I don't blame you."

"Yes, you do. And you're right. But you _have to_ forgive me, Booth. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to take her away. But I had to. I had to. And if you can't forgive me..."

She took a seat on the table in front of him, shifting as close as she could without touching him.

Taking the glass, he twisted it in his hand, finally gulping down half of the drink.

"You left and took my life with you."

Nodding, she accepted his words.

"Now you're back, but... everything's different."

Inhaling deeply, she took his hand.

"You're right, Booth. I cannot change that. Believe me, I wish I could."

"She's grown so much..."

"She doesn't prefer me. Christine didn't understand why we left, and now we're back. She's sleeping better. Laughing more. She missed you so much. Give her some time to adjust."

"You don't need me."

Shaking her head, she laughed out without humor.

"You're wrong, Booth, very wrong. Christine needs her daddy. I need my... _you_, Booth, _you_. We can survive without you, that's correct, and I'm adept at cooking breakfast, but we do need you. We love you."

"I just... Bones, do we have to do this?"

Pain, so much pain in his eyes, but she squeezed his hand.

"You have to understand, Booth. If you cannot forgive me, Pelant has won. I can't let him win. Not this one."

"Bones..."

"This is important, Booth, we are. We both have lost three months."

Her words were lingering in the air, and, for the first time, he saw _her_ pain.

"Tell me about it," he whispered, his face softening.

-BONES-

The room disappeared, as she began to talk. She led him from town to town, describing motel rooms and sleepless nights. Painting a picture of a life that hadn't really been a life, had only been existence. Rationality fought with emotions, and her voice halted every now and then. He heard about a purple unicorn and the first ride on a carousel. Heard about blue baby clothes and a red wig.

There were pictures to accompany her story and letters she had written but never sent.

She talked about the case as well, their efforts to take down Pelant, but only briefly because that wasn't what mattered. Not right now.

She spoke for about an hour, her pain filling the room, and when she finally stopped, another kind of silence was lingering between them. Their glasses had been emptied and refilled, but, still, she was holding his hand. Or, maybe, he was holding hers.

The night had darkened, but in the wee hours of the new day, Booth felt something new, something else replacing anger and hurt and loss. Something that flickered like a tiny flame in the darkness. _Pride_.

"You were very brave," he finally uttered, and, lifting her head, she sought his eyes, finding them warm and steady on her.

"I did change because I had to. All I ever wanted was _coming home_."

Lowering his gaze, he played with her fingers, and, eventually, a soft smile curved up his lips.

"I like your pancakes."

Four simple words that flooded her with relief, and, once more, she had to keep her tears at bay.

"Yours are better."

He tugged at her hand, gently, and she followed her heart, falling into his arms. Arms that opened for her, that closed around her, holding her tight to his chest. He was warm and solid, but he was soft as well, finally soft again.

"Please forgive me," she whispered into his neck, and he blinked against the moisture in his eyes, inhaling the very familiar scent of her.

"I do. I have. I will."

"Just... don't give up, Booth. Don't give up on us."

His hold on her became almost painful, but it felt good, so good.

"I'm not _that_ stupid, Bones."

She laughed out on a sob and he kissed her; kissed her just because he wanted to kiss her, and, this time, she did not say 'no'. Her lips parted ever so softly under his, tongues brushing over each other, fingers entwining.

"Booth?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you, too, you know that, right?"

"Yes. I... Bones, I can adjust. I will."

-BONES-

People say living well is the best revenge.

But, as he got up with her in his arms, it was not about revenge. As he carried her to their bedroom, it was not about revenge. And, as she removed his clothes, shed her own as well, it was neither hiding nor forgetting.

It was remembering; remembering with body and soul.

And, as her hand cupped his hip, moving lower; as he buried his face in the valley between her breasts, it was just it.

A man and a woman. Making love.

Finally, as she was moving on top of him, feeling him so deep inside of her, it was nothing but pure bliss. Raw emotions wrapped up in bubbles of happiness.

And, as he pulled her into his arms afterwards, kissing her damp brow, it was coming home.

Coming home.

The End.


End file.
